The snow is blanketing the ground.
It mutes the wordless thrum and murmuring
That punctuates the world around
Our home. So let us speak a softer thing,
And let our words, like snow, mount into drifts
Of common, yet incomparable, gifts.
The snow is blanketing the ground.
It mutes the wordless thrum and murmuring
That punctuates the world around
Our home. So let us speak a softer thing,
And let our words, like snow, mount into drifts
Of common, yet incomparable, gifts.
This poem is from the Winter / Spring 2025 issue of Modern Age.